


If you lose your faith, you can have mine

by china_shop



Category: White Collar
Genre: Episode Related, F/M, Fic, M/M, Multi, Pre-Threesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-05
Updated: 2011-06-05
Packaged: 2017-10-20 03:39:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/208364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/china_shop/pseuds/china_shop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neal's hanging by a thread—she knows that much. That's why she came when he called. But she doesn't know why he wanted to meet her here.</p><p>Episode tag for 2.16.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If you lose your faith, you can have mine

"You sure this is the place?" asks the cab driver in his thick eastern European accent. He has a point. The street is ill-lit and mostly empty, lined with dilapidated warehouses. A delivery van passes, heading for the docks, but otherwise this could be a scene from a post-apocalyptic movie, the two of them the only survivors.

Elizabeth isn't worried. She peers into the shadows and sees a familiar figure in a narrow-brimmed hat. "This is it. Will you wait?"

"Okay," says the cab driver. "You pay me now, I wait."

She gives him twenty dollars and gets out of the car. There's a stiff breeze, and she pulls her coat tight around her and fingers the cellphone in her pocket like a talisman. "Neal?"

"Elizabeth. You came." Neal steps forward. She can't see his face, because of the burned out streetlight above them and the shadow cast by the brim of his hat, but his posture is both tired and keyed up. "Are you alone?"

"That's what you wanted," she says. They're well outside his radius. She doesn't know if or how he's circumvented his tracker. She doesn't ask. "Peter's still at the office. What's going on, Neal?"

He takes off his hat, and something about the expression on his thin face tugs at her heart. He backs a couple of steps toward the door of the nearest warehouse, and she follows, curious and concerned. Neal's hanging by a thread—she knows that much. That's why she came when he called. But she doesn't know why he wanted to meet her here.

"I have to ask you something," he says.

"Something you couldn't ask me over the phone?" A gust of wind blows her hair across her face, slices through the folds of her thin scarf, making her shiver. "It's late."

Neal lowers his voice. "I need to show you something first."

"Okay." Elizabeth knows Peter would be suspicious at this juncture, but she trusts Neal. He would never put her in danger. "Show me."

Neal unlocks the door of the warehouse and leads her inside. It's poorly lit, and it smells of old brick, dust and something else. Something timeless. She follows him around a corner and stops, awestruck.

They're surrounded by treasure. There are wooden crates with swastikas, but she barely notices them amid the gleaming gold and pearls, the artworks that radiate age and majesty. She glances back at the plain, cracked EXIT sign, to make sure Neal hasn't brought her through a looking glass or a wardrobe into another world.

Neal's watching her, waiting for her reaction.

"Wow." So much beauty, it takes her a moment to catch her breath, collect her thoughts. "What is all this? It's from the U-boat, isn't it?" The room is thick with history, and she moves helplessly forward, entranced by a portrait. It looks like a van Dyke. She reaches out to touch the frame.

Neal catches her hand and stops her. "Prints," he says, meaning finger prints. All of this wealth is stolen.

The human contact is shocking. Elizabeth pulls away automatically. His face tightens in reaction, but there are more important things at stake than Neal's feelings; right now she's concerned for his—for want of a better word—soul. "How did you find it?"

"Someone left me a note," he says. She raises her eyebrows, and he adds, "Anonymous. I don't know who."

Elizabeth turns her back on the heaps of treasure and looks him in the eye. "What are you going to do with it all?"

"I should tell Peter," he says. "The FBI." He drops his hat on a crate and slides his hands into his pockets. He looks aloof, dangerous—and terribly alone. They're only about six feet apart, but she isn't sure she could reach him if she tried.

"Is that what you're going to do?" she asks, keeping the question neutral. It has to be his decision.

"What do you think I should do?" Neal takes a step forward, watching her intensely. "What do you want me to do?"

That's what he's brought her here to ask.

It's heady, this power he's offering her, and he doesn't look dangerous anymore. She wants to hold him, to feel his arms around her, and he's offering her a chance to save him. But she can't be his conscience. Peter would want him to decide for himself, and she wants that too. She licks her lips. "Neal—"

"There's millions of dollars worth of jewels alone," he says, before she can reason with him. His voice is warm and persuasive. "The art is priceless. We could go anywhere, do anything."

"'We'?" Her hand tightens involuntarily on the phone in her pocket, reminding her Peter is only a phone call away.

Neal moves in close, his body like a magnet, making her skin prickle with awareness. He gives her a seductive movie star smile. "Come with me, Elizabeth."

She feels her eyes widen.

"I didn't plan this," Neal continues, not giving her a chance to respond, "and I don't know how it happened, but look—" He guides her to a chest full of precious stones and jewelry. Trying to dazzle her, as if all the valuables in the world could mean more than what he's suggesting.

"Don't," says Elizabeth, shaking her head. "Do you have any idea what that would do to Peter? It would destroy him."

Neal's mouth twists. It's the first time she's ever thought him ugly. "He'd survive."

"No," says Elizabeth. She moves close to Neal, doing her best to come between him and temptation. To remind him who he is. If he's this close to falling, then screw what's right: she'll play the part of his conscience if she has to. "Peter loves us both, more than you can imagine. And you care about him." She pulls Neal to a corner, away from the loot. There's a pile of bricks, half a dozen old metal chairs. She rights two of the chairs and pushes Neal into one, sits facing him. "Neal, what happened today?"

Neal presses his lips together, mutinously, and love swells in Elizabeth's chest. A ridiculous response, but she's helpless to ignore it.

She takes Neal's hand in both of hers. "Tell me."

Slowly, Neal starts to talk. He tells her about the explosion, how he thought the paintings were lost. He tells her about Adler's accusations, and then Peter's. He tells her about arriving home to find the card, the key.

When he's talked himself out, Elizabeth squeezes his hand. "Peter found scraps of your paintings at the crime scene. Your paintings were in the warehouse when it exploded, Neal."

"What?" Neal looks shocked, shakes his head. "That's not possible."

"He told me," says Elizabeth. "Peter heard Adler accusing you, and he saw your paintings. He knows you wanted revenge for Kate. What was he supposed to think?"

Neal stands, pulling her up with him. "Someone's setting me up."

"You need to call him," says Elizabeth. "Tell him that. Tell him about all this." She waves her hand at the valuables around them.

"I can't." Neal hunches, backed into a corner. "You weren't there. You didn't see his face. He hates me right now."

"He doesn't hate you," says Elizabeth, sharply enough to cut through his resistance. She knows how Peter feels about Neal and it's a million miles from hate, no matter what the pop songs say. "Peter's confused, his brain is spinning. Neal, he needs you."

"No," says Neal, but he's weakening. She can see it. He wants to believe.

"Just talk to him," says Elizabeth. She takes his hand. "Come on, come home with me. I have a taxi waiting. You can tell him there."

Neal swallows, hesitates, doubt forming like a cloud around him. "He won't listen."

"He will." Elizabeth sends a silent apology to Peter for breaking his confidence and plays her trump card. "You know what I think?" she says, drawing him gently toward the door. "I think you and Peter need to talk this out, find out what's going on and who left you the key to this place. And then I think the two of you need to kiss and make up."

Neal stops dead in his tracks. He meets her eye, as stunned as she'd been when he showed her the treasure. "I—"

She keeps her gaze level, not backing down. "Do you trust me?"

He nods, seeming lost for words. There's something fragile and hollow about him now, and she wants to fill him with love. Restore him to his reckless, charming self.

She knows now that he cares for her as well as Peter, and as long as that's the case, the three of them can find a way to be together. They'll carve a way out of stone, if they have to, and it will be worth it. Her heart sings. Everything will be okay.

"Come on," she says, and he walks with her outside.

END


End file.
